So the Eternal Life Begins
by Kal Lenin
Summary: Is life eternal for digimon? Here is Agumon's take on the issue. (Humor or serious--your interpretation)


So the Eternal Life Begins

It's been too long. Way too long.

And so the years go by. People come and go. Loved ones leave, hated ones leave, and even rocks and trees leave, occasionally. But me? Us? No, we stay. Ever grueling, ever depressed. Time goes on, we don't. Sometimes I get that feeling that we'll be here forever.

And in a sense, we already have.

I guess it really started getting depressing about sixty-four real-world years ago (of course that was eons in the digital world). T.K.'s sixtieth birthday I think. Yes, the day is dim in my memory. But anyway, we all had a good laugh then. Exchanged gifts, ate some cake, had some good old fashion fun. That was probably our last good moment.

It started going downhill from there. First the gray hair, then the balding, and soon arthritis and osteoporosis. Then came the dentures, and soon enough, the cane. It was a long and gradual process, which is probably why it seemed so painful. I watched him deteriorate—we all watched, that is—and eventually, it was becoming too much.

About twenty years after that sixtieth birthday, the first of them began dropping off. Surprisingly, it was Tai who went first, that resilient sun-of-a-gun. He put up a good fight, but his body just wasn't what it used to be. Agumon went off for a while, to do some soul searching, and we began to see less and less of him. Of course Sora was crushed, we consoled her, but she was never the same. One day, a few months after his death, she just went to sleep and never woke up. That's when Biyomon took to long migrations south during the winter. Just couldn't stand being around all the memories, I reckon.

Well, then Joe's kidneys began to fail him. It was one at first, which was OK, but then the other started giving him problems. After two transplants, it just wasn't enough. He left us about two years after Matt and Sora. I still remember that day. Gomamon looked off into the horizon and said, "There's someone out there waiting for me." He jumped into the ocean, swam away, and we never saw him again.

Matt, in his grumpy later years, was still a pretty nice guy, deep inside. And when I say deep I mean _deep_. Go get this, go get that. Why is this too hot, or why is this too cold? What took you so long, ya lazy bum? But we all knew he loved us, I guess. Then one day, he was yelling at some other old woman in the retirement home, and he choked. Two hours later, he died in the hospital—it was a heart attack.

Not long after that, Gabumon developed his drinking problem. He would stay out long nights, sometimes not even coming home. We'd have to go out and look for him, and we'd find him all washed up, sometimes lying in the street. But there was a nice bunch of girls, though, at that favorite tavern of his. They'd keep an eye on him, let us know where he was, and how bad he was doing. A real sweet bunch they were. Still, he physically deteriorated. His muzzle would grow all stubble, and his breath would constantly smell of liquor. Soon enough, his eyes became cracked red all the time. He would sleep almost fourteen hours a day and drink the rest of it away.

Well by that time Mimi wasn't exactly the girl she used to be. Sometimes she'd put on all sorts of make-up and stand in front of the mirror for hours, weeping. A week after Matt's death, we found her lying in bed. She wasn't breathing. There were two empty pill bottles near by of EZ-doze, so we figured she ODed on sleeping pills. Sad picture, to see her like that. When the police found her, her make-up was all smeared on her cold, pale face.

Palmon took it rather well. She immersed herself in shrubbery, horticulture, and the like. Went off to some greenhouse in the Southeast U.S. Occasionally we'd get a letter, but it was usually short and brief. Of course, we, by that time, was me, Gatomon, and Tentamon. We'd sent Gabumon to the New Foundland Rehabilitation Institute. Nice and quiet out there, so we figured that he'd find some peace.

With the three of us left, we made a promise never to separate. It really intrigues me to see that we were so naïve, even with all the years we had. But anyway, we were desperate, and looking for some hope. We'd find consolation in ourselves. The letters and e-mails between us were almost more than daily by this time.

It was rather quiet for the next five, six years, but then Izzy started getting sick. He had a stroke, and never fully recovered. Tentamon couldn't stand to see him, half-paralyzed like that. He avoided his eyes whenever he could, but soon even that wasn't enough. But anyway, Izzy slowly wasted away in bed. He was hooked up to the life-support machine 'till the very end, when Tentamon decided to pull the plug. After that, he promptly enrolled with MIT and Harvard, and began studying diligently. He never left his books.

Well, that just left two of us, Gatomon and me. Old as we were, we found we still had no problem digivolving. Often we'd just fly away, a pair of angels, off on some vacation. But we'd never really be relaxed. A certain tension never left, and probably never could leave. We'd return to look over T.K. and Kari. The two stayed together, like us, consoling each other. But they were able to deal with things. It was nice to see them so peacefully living out the last years of their life. Indeed they were golden.

And so, after about three or four years, that day came. T.K. laid down on the couch to rest his aching bones, and he died in his sleep. Kari had looked at him as he lay there, but was not overcome with grief. She felt a joy that he had passed to another world. So when she rested her bones later that night, she made that passing too.

The two of us, Gatomon (Angewoman at this point) and I, stood in solemn silence at the funeral. It was rather nice, thought. The roses were there, the kids were there, all sorts of relative and friends. We felt happy for him, but our thoughts couldn't help but look upon the future. It looked so bleak, but we tried not to think about it then.

Ten years passed like the rolling hills that pass by the window of the train. They were just a blur, a smearing of one day to the next. There were good times and there were bad times; there were happy times and there were sad times; there were moments of joy and there were moments of sorrow. Life was life was life. But on that tenth year, a strange thing happened.

Gennai's successor, Lucas, called us up, saying that they were going to bring in anew group of digidestined. We saw their pictures and were overcome with joy at the second chance. We came back together again. Gabumon stopped drinking. Agumon found his inner self. Tentamon ended his studies. Biyomon migrated home. Gomamon found the one who was waiting. Even Palmon, who had inconspicuously disappeared, came home.

We were all happy. The times were great. We saved the world umpteen times over.

But it was just another cycle.

And so now, it's "little" Mike's sixtieth birthday. I think it's a fateful time, but I cope. As long as there's still a good "cig 'a weed" around, I'm OK. In fact, ever since marijuana was introduced in the digital world, there haven't been any wars. There was peace and harmony at last. And so we spent our time, jumping back and forth, wherever the party was. We've done the things that people do: rave, dance, sky-dive, ultimate fighting, you name it. And now, there's nothing. I look to the setting sun and think, the day has been much too long.


End file.
